Page 4 of Mile High With the Bikers
“Fair enough.” I can respect loyalty. “Should I report that dickhead for you?”
“What dickhead?” Shrapnel asks. Diesel’s head goes up, eyes on me.
“Someone’s henchman was trying to buy his way into the mile high club and wasn’t happy about taking no for an answer.”
Rory’s eyes go wide. “Seriously? You think that’s why he was being like that?”
“I think it’s sweet that you don’t.”
She cleans up the first two hands, easy. With each win, her confidence grows and she gets a little cocky. “Are all bikers this bad at poker?”
“Oh, now you’re going down, little lady,” Diesel says with a sharp grin.
Play turns serious, and while I get lucky on two pairs, and Shrapnel takes a round on a single ace when no one gets shit for cards, Rory still takes the lion's share of the hands. Our shy kitten knows how to play, that's for fucking sure. I'm intrigued.
I drain my glass and take a bite out of the celery stick Rory found for me. If she's worked for Whittaker for a couple years, then she's got to have seen some shit. “So is the mile high club a real thing?”
“I… don't know? I guess?” She scans her cards briefly, exchanges one, then puts them down. “I mean, lots of planes like this have bedrooms, right? If you think about how many planes fly every single day, I bet it’s not that unusual.”
“And you’ve never snuck in a test run?” Even after drawing three, all I've got is a pair of fives. That's not gonna get me anywhere. I toss them to join Diesel's. “Fold.”
Her eyes open wide at my suggestion. She's so fucking cute, the way her fair skin flushes so quickly when she’s shocked. “What? No way! Are you crazy?” The shock turns into a wild laugh that she covers with her hand, like it caught her completely off guard. “I can't even imagine?—”
“I can.” Shrapnel winks.
Diesel closes his eyes. “Imagining it right now, actually.”
I flick a card at him and he bats it away with a laugh.
“You guys are so bad. Call.” Her tone is scolding, but she's struggling to hide her grin.
And yet she’s still sitting with us. I don't know her yet, but I know when a girl is enjoying our attention. She could've gotten up from this table at any time if she wanted to.
“You have no idea how fucking bad we can be.” Shrapnel tosses his hand on the table, but he's looking right at her. A fucking pair of fours. If that wins…
“Well…” Rory’s smile is pure satisfaction. “I think I know a little bit at least.” She giggles as she drops two pairs on the table, taking the hand again.
That's it, no more fucking around. “We're letting you win.”
“Are not.” She narrows her pretty eyes and tightens her jaw, her nostrils flaring just a little as she glares.
I think I hit a sore spot. Shit just got more interesting. “Are too,” I lie. “Just three big, bad bikers letting the pretty girl feel like she’s keeping up.” I grin obnoxiously, baiting her and loving the barely contained fury heating those cool eyes.
Someone doesn’t like having her skill questioned and I think I'm gonna like this side of her.
Rory gathers the cards up, her glare never leaving my face. If her eyes could shoot sparks, my face would be charred. Without ever looking down, she shuffles, a perfect butterfly followed by a perfect bridge, making Diesel's eyes widen. She might be better at that than he is. Twice more, proving that it wasn't a fluke. “Then how about we up the stakes?”
I think I'm in love. “Name the game, angel.”
She pauses a moment, then puts down two of the hundred dollar bills she got off the asshole up front. “How’s that for stakes?”
I just laugh at her. “How’s that higher stakes for you? Those just dropped into your pocket a minute ago. Try harder.”
That flare in her eyes only grows brighter. A moment of thought, and then she tips her chin up. “Yeah? Strip poker. If you’re just playing me then I bet you’ll love that. And if not…” She shrugs. “I still don’t think you’ll win.”
The room falls completely quiet except for the rumble of the jet engines outside. The gauntlet has been thrown down, and I really believe she thinks there’s no way we’ll take her up on that.
Diesel jumps at the bait. “You’re on.”
